


rust

by orphan_account



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Classical Music, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:10:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kyouya is a prodigy at the violin, but he has been ordered never to play again. Can a certain blonde pianist re-inspire his passion?





	rust

Club hours had finally ended that day, the guests reluctantly bidding their farewells to their beloved hosts. The members of the club were exhausted, but still buzzing with excitement like always to drop their characters and chat with one another, the afterhours of the club always a chance to wind down and be together as friends, not just as hosts. Like always, after changing, hani and mori were the first to say goodbye, the dwindling daylight providing precious time to practice martial arts. Even when not in the karate club, the two of them were still just as dedicated to the arts of fighting. After that, haruhi would leave with the twins, much to tamaki’s disdain, but the twins got picked up in the same spot that haruhi used to exit the school, so it couldn’t be helped. 

That always left kyouya and tamaki in the pink music room, orange light softly filtering in through the tall windows, the only sound in the room being kyouya’s insessant typing on his keyboard. 

 

He never seemed to stop working, always writing, always typing, always reading or studying or doing whatever it was his father asked of him. Tamaki often wondered how one could live such a stressful and pressure filled life, all while keeping such a calm demeanor and collected head. Tamaki worried for him sometimes, but kyouya had always seemed utterly unbothered, no matter how much work was handed to him. Still, kyouya seemed to be a mystery that didn’t want to be solved, not even after all these years.

“Are you staying late again?”

“I am.”

Tamaki sighed, smiling at his friend as he ran a finger through his hair. It wasn’t unusual that kyouya stayed behind, always saying that he had extra work to do- but tamaki suspected that the real reason was to avoid going home, which was, for all intents and purposes, true. 

“Alright, then. Just make sure you get home at a decent hour!” 

“I will.”

Kyouya flashed him a smile, silver eyes meeting violet. 

Tamaki patted him on the head, then said his goodbyes, tapping out of the room promptly. 

 

Kuouya waited a few minutes after the final host had left, his fingers stilling over the letters of the keyboard. He let out a sigh, finally closing up his laptop. He stretched, leaning back into ihs chair and closing his eyes for a moment.  The retreating sun cast soft rays into the dark, empty room from the large window behind him. This was his favorite time of day. The warmth of the sun, the soft glow of its light, and the peaceful quiet of the room as he allowed his thoughts to wander after all his work for the day was complete.   
  
He loved letting his thoughts wander ever since he found other mind-occupying subjects other than his father and his expectations for his third son. 

Violet. 

The color was so breath-taking. Kyouya opened his eyes, frowning. Those eyes were so extraordinary, and his own? Soot. The color of soot. Ash, steel, ice. Just like his fathers’. 

 

He let his gaze slide over to the piano, the piano that made his heart flutter in excitement every time tamaki had sat down to play. He recalled the very first day that he had heard tamaki play, the feeling of seeing someone so easily and freely pour his emotions into music making his heart ache. Tamaki was so different from himself, no matter what haruhi had said before. he put on a façade in front of everyone, including the people closest to him, he existed solely to please, his own emotions never mattered, and they never would. Tamaki, however...he lived his life to help others, gaining something from it that was purely altruistic that kyouya himself struggled to understand. 

_ My, my! What a talented young man! _

_ He could be a professional violinist, if he keeps going! _

Those words had been the last encouragement kyouya had ever received, but to his father, they were apparently poison. Music was not something an ootori pursued.

He had been in the classical music club in elementary school, because orchestra was a required course for the advanced learning program he had been placed in. It was never meant to be something that kyouya enjoyed, and it was never meant to be something he grew passionate about- but that didn’t stop him, not at that age. 

He was in love with the violin at age 6, he loved that it was so free and creative and  _ pretty,  _ unlike what he’d experienced before. He loved to practice, he loved when the maids would listen to him play. It was like he could express things without being scolded for it. He was talented, as well- so talented that the music teacher urged his father to place him in private lessons. 

that , of course, never happened. 

_ Enjoy this preformance, because it will be your last one. Once this course is over, you are not to play that instrument again. _

Were yoshio ootori’s final words before kyouya’s year-end recital, the one he’d practiced non-stop for over the past year. His father made his policies on the matter clear, but did not bother attending the performance.

That was also the last time kyouya bothered arguing with the man.

_ ‘Why? Father, I love music, and it makes people happy when I play--’ _

_ SLAP. _

_ ‘It is a waste of time, son, let me make that clear. You do not have all the time in the world to spend doing whatever you please. The course is over, so you are done with music. Do not argue with me again.  _

 

Kyouya recalled the memory, feeling the familiar ache in his chest.

He obeyed his father’s orders, he never touched the violin again after that night, no matter how much he wanted to. He cut his emotions away, this being the first step to becoming a master at hiding them, killing them the moment they surface.

 

He stood up, tapping over to the piano, the sounds of his shoes on marble the only ones in the room.

When he’d heard tamaki play for the first time, so freely and beautifully, feeling in every note- it made him feel a way he couldn’t describe, even to this day.

_ Envious, in awe, suprised, inspired, hopeful-- _

_ In love.  _

His world had truly opened up that day,  and he began to see colors he’d never seen before, he began to hear music in places where there had previously been none. 

Kyouya ran his fingers over the ivory keys, the color almost matching his skin. 

He let out a sigh, and lifted open the bench, finding his secret possession inside. 

It felt like a crime, every time he picked up the instrument.

He felt he had no choice- though, ever since he’d heard tamaki play, he’d been filled with desire to do the same, taking his friends advice and showing his true colors the only way he knew how. Tamaki and the host club had given him so many new emotions that he had no idea what to do with them other than let the violin take them away. 

Was something like that really so useless? 

He’d never practice at home, or in front of anyone else, for that matter- but it brought him peace just to be playing again. He wouldn’t let anyone step all over it again.

He tuned, stilling a moment before running his bow over the strings. It was a song he’d heard on one of the classical records they played during club hours, one that had gotten stuck in his head. He’d been playing it from memory, filling in the parts he wasn’t sure about with his own creations. A soft smile rested on his face as he listened to the golden melody resonating from the body of the violin which he held so dear to his heart- his only means of expression.

It was a gentle and slow song, and he couldn’t help but think of tamaki every time he played. Tamaki was the reason he had began again, after all. Tamaki was just like the violin- something he loved so dearly, but a love that would forever have to exist in the shadows. 

He began improvising, and he played until his arm began to ache, until he felt satisfied. He let the bow glide off of the strings, parting with them as he let out a gentle sigh.

Silence filled the room for a beat as he opened his eyes, lowering his arms. 

 

“Kyouya..”

 

He felt ice form in his veins at the utterance of his name, something close to panic swelling in his chest. He abruptly whipped his head around, terror in his eyes. Tamaki looked back at him, stepping out from behind the curtain used to protect the grand piano.

Kyouya quickly hid the violin and bow behind his back, brain immediately going into damage control.

“Tamaki, I wasn’t doing anything.”

_ Nice one, so convincing.  _ He scolded himself. Tamaki didn’t seem to care, though stepping forward towards his friend.

“Mon-ami, that was beautiful!  c'était si beau!” 

He spoke in french as he grabbed kyouya’s shoulders.

“I had no idea you played--!”

“I don’t. I don’t play the violin, this was just...it was nothing.” He quickly shook away from tamaki, promptly putting the instrument back down into the piano bench and not bothering to loosen the bow, shutting the lid loudly.

“But--”

“Why are you here, anyway?” 

He glared at tamaki, anger usually being his go-to emotion when he didn’t know what else to feel.

“I just forgot my notebook...that’s all.” he answered, confused at kyouya’s behavior.

“Then grab it and go home. I was about to leave, anyway- no need to stick around any longer.” he said, walking back towards his desk and gathering up his things. His heart was pounding, and he willed his mind not to race absurdly. 

“But kyouya--”

“Drop it, tamaki. Please.”

He commanded, not looking back at tamaki as he stormed out of the room and down the hall. Tamaki watched him go, eyebrows drawn together. 


End file.
